


Oreka

by Mythic_Hue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:32:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4230702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythic_Hue/pseuds/Mythic_Hue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione, after being sequestered for months by The Dark Lord, is thrust into the past and left with more questions than answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione sat on Professor Dumbledore’s olive settee, examining the back of her hands. She then gathered up the neck of the oversized dressing robe about her, nuzzling the soft material mindlessly. 

Professor Dumbledore pensively examined the troubled young lady with softened eyes, hesitant to stir her from her thoughts, the soft hum of several wizarding knick knacks adorning his desk filling silence of the room. 

“Professor, sir… I, sir…” Hermione still stares at her hands as she worries her bottom lip.

“I can understand that whatever has transpired has been, perhaps overwhelming… would you like for me to floo someone for you? Or perhaps another member of the staff would be bettered suited to…”

“No, no sir, please.” Hermione cut him off, eyes wide. “I… I need to talk to you.”

 

...15 minutes earlier... 

Tom rounded the last corridor of his patrol, wand set at a dim Lumos. Patrolling had been near-pointless as the rest of the student body had yet returned for term. He stops still at the soft sound of footsteps, and lifts his head to see Professor Dumbledore, just rounding the corner but now very still at the mouth of the long, shadowy corridor. Tom squints at the Professor, irritated to be required to exchange false pleasantries before heading to bed. He steels his face in indifference and continues on his path towards the professor.

Abruptly, Professor Dumbledore breaks out into a fast dash down the corridor. What the devil? A running wizard is never a good sign... Tom stops still and his eyes dart around the corridor, looking for the cause of alarm and sees a lump of something up against the wall, halfway down. Before he can fully focus on the something he sees the professor strip off his dressing robe and fling it on the form and crouches down, now in just a dressing gown. Tom walks forward slowly, wand out. He sees a mass of chestnut locks peeking out from under the professor’s lemon colored dressing robe. A body? A body quickly concealed; violently mangled, or perhaps indecent or naked... Tom begins to catalogue fellow students hair, trying to match the tresses, as he approaches.

Suddenly Professor Dumbledore bellows, “Mr. Riddle stop immediately!” 

Tom stops. Really, professor? Do you truly think of me as a child to shelter? 

“Mr. Riddle you will immediately report back to your room.”

Tom slowly glides closer, eyes darting between Professor Dumbledore and the body on the ground. “Sir, do you need my assistance? I can help…”

“Mr. Riddle…”

Tom notices that the professor is not attempting to examine the body or assess it in any way. “Sir, do you need me to…”

“Mr. Riddle, you will…”

Tom cannot be torn from this, this… whatever it is. Nothing goes on in the castle without him knowing. “Sir, shall I fetch the Headmaster?”

“MR. RIDDLE!”

Professor Dumbledore stands up from his crouched position and lifts his wand to his student.

Guberno Domum Lectulo

Tom stills and stares at the professor. You lift your wand to me?! What the hell kind of spell was that, anyway? Barmy berk... Tom tries to walk forward again and he cannot. He then finds his body whipped around and he begins to march back down the hallway. Circe’s Tit! Did the bumbling, twinkly Professor The-Sun-Shines-Out-Of-My-Arse Albus Bloody Dumbledore just put a cousin of the Imperius curse on me?! 

An extremely irate Tom Riddle is marched back to his Head Boy’s room. He barely has time to bark out the password as the portrait flies open and he is guided further. Suddenly he finds himself at his bed, coverlet thrown back and before he can say ‘Morgana’s Magnificent Mouth’ he is splayed on the bed and tucked in securely. Whipping out an ancient parenting spell, Dumbledore? Oh, what is really going on?

 

...Back in Professor Dumbledore’s Office…

Hermione looks up from her hands. “Professor, I am afraid that I need to ask you for your help. You assistance will be of the utmost importance for what I need to do, and…”

“Miss, ummm…” Professor Dumbledore pauses to allow Hermione to chime in with her name, but she simply shakes her head. Professor Dumbledore furrows his brow slightly. “Hm. I would be glad to talk to you about whatever endeavors you wish to take on, however, do you not feel it is pertinent to assess your health, what has happened to you, and how you found yourself in these halls in the state that you were?”

“Sir, I am aware of my condition, I am in perfect health, and I know what has happened and why. Mostly.”

Professor Dumbledore pauses for her to elaborate. Hermione does not.

“Am I to assume that you do not wish to divulge this information to me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Is this due to the private nature of the issues, or is it do to a matter that perhaps has wider implications.”

Hermione’s breath hitched slightly. “Both, Sir.”

“Miss, you ask me for my assistance, without me knowing who you are or what your agenda might be. In this age I cannot afford to instill my trust in all that may apply for it. The political climate is such that…”

“Sir, what is the date and year?”

Professor Dumbledore rapidly blinks and begins to reassess the circumstances.

“It is August 31, 1944, Miss.”

Hermione stands up suddenly and begins to pace the room. She starts to gnaw at her thumb, obviously deep in thought. She then sits down once again on the settee and a small smile begins to creep across her face.

“Sir, this is wonderful! I mean, not really wonderful, obviously, this is awful, but the situations is not as bad as it was! I mean, perhaps, since I have the time, I can…”

“Miss.”

Hermine jumps up suddenly. “Oh, I have about had it with all the Miss stuff, Professor! Your name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and I am from the future and I trust you with my life.”

“You are a student?”

“Yes, Sir. I am unsure about how much I should say. I know, it is important to remember the mechanics of time travel and all… Sir! Can I show you some memories?”

“Miss, I am unsure if that is wise if what you indeed say is true since…”

“Sir, I can compile and annotate.”

“You can what?!”

“Yes sir! I have, well, I have had the time to work on this technique more recently and I have become quite adept at it. As I understand it, at this current time the concept is in its infancy. I have been told that I am a naturally gifted Legilimens and Occlumens. Besides, if a bit more gets though than it should I am quite handy with Memories Charms, so no worries!” Hermione smirks.

Professor Dumbledore eyes the girl a bit, searching her face. “I cannot say that I find the notion comforting, Miss.”

“Sir, please. Just take a peek”

Hermione widens her eyes a bit and waits. Dumbledore gently enters her mind, easily slipping in. 

Professor Dumbledore finds himself in a great library, filled with shadows. There is little light emanating from some torches but he can see the room is filled with books. He attempts to step closer to the shelves and finds that he can neither make out the book titles on the spine nor remove the books from the shelves. Across the room he hears a ‘thump’ sound and notices a large tome on well-lit table. As he gets closer a high-back chair appears. He sits and opens the tome and is greeted with an onslaught of memories of a young lady, obvious the young woman in his office, and an older version on himself. As the memories continue the interactions become more seemingly stressful. He sees himself trying to heal a severe curse wound on her. He cannot make out the words of their interaction at times, but he sees them in a room of adults and young people, crowded around a magical drawing board, arguing. He sees himself attempting Legilimens on the young lady and watching her face twist in concentration. He sees her eating dinner across from himself in a decrepit-looking kitchen, surrounded by others with fuzzy forms and muted words, a solemn face on the both of them as they push around their food. 

Professor Dumbledore pulls out of her mind.

“I would love to meet the individual that taught you such an efficient technique.” Professor Dumbledore smiles slightly.

Hermione does too.

“Alright, young lady, how can I help you?” 

Suddenly there is pop followed by a clammering sound coming from a closet in Professor Dumbledore’s office.

“Buggering hell!” A raucous voice blusters from the closet. Dumbledore quickly crosses the room to the closet door and opens it.

“Aw, Dumbledore! Did you wear your dragon jamjams just for me?” A husky voice chuckled.

You have got to be kidding me! Hermione shoots up and bounds for the closet

Professor Dumbledore turned to Hermione, shutting the door slightly, “There seems to a flaxen-hair nude young man in my closet, Miss.”

Hermione pushes through and gazes in the closet, just in time to see the profile of one Draco Frigging Malfoy securing one of Professor Dumbledore’s robes around himself. Draco turns and locks eyes with Hermione, “What?! You! And you are-”

“Not a word!”

“Gra-”

“NOT A WORD, FERRET!” 

Knowing Draco was trained from a young age in the art of Legilimency Hermione grips Draco’s shoulders and slips in his mind. She encourages him into her mind to review her interactions with Professor Dumbledore since she woke up in his office. 

She slips back out of his mind, “Not a word, don’t say your name, or mine, just, just… just let me talk.”

“...1944?! But, but, but...” Hermione roughly grabs Draco’s wrist and pulls him over to take a seat. Draco fluffs his borrowed sky blue robes before settling in. In the light he can now see Professor Dumbledore is many years younger than he should be, or was, or rather would be. Professor Dumbledore takes his seat at his desk once again.

Dumbledore watched the pair across from him and sighs, placing his face in his hands, for a moment. Both Hermione and Draco frown at seeing their normally chipper Headmaster so somber.

“Sir?” They ask in unison.

Professor Dumbledore raises his head. “I know why you two are here and oh, what a headache...”

“You do?!” Hermione exclaims. 

“Yes, roughly. Do you know why you are here?”

Hermione answers, “I have an idea, but I am not not sure because…”

“Well, that is damn more than I know!” Draco interrupts. “First time in an actual bed in a bloody fortnight and I get swiped in my sleep, striped down starkers, and then I get some some bloody painful and stupidly complicated spell put on me…” Hermione glared at him and he glared back, “What? I thought I could talk as long as I don’t say our names!”

Dumbledore sighs again. He felt indecisive. 

“Is... is he the one that sent you here, Miss?”

Hermione knew from Professor Dumbledore’s face that the he in reference was not the slightly panicky man at her side. Oh yes, Him. Him. 

“Yes, sir.”

“He is here, you know.”

Hermione looks down again. “Yes, Sir.”

Draco interjects, “What are you lot on about?!”

“Do you know why he would be sent as well?” Dumbledore gestures to Draco.

“No. And I haven’t seen him in months.” Hermione looks down at her lap.

Draco pulls his hands through his pale hair. “Hey, ummm…” Draco stalls at her name. “Um, Princess, look at me.” Draco touches Hermione on her arm. Hermione continues to stare at her hands. “Please, look at me, Princess.” Hermione detects something approaching sincerity in Draco’s voice and meets his silver eyes. Wait, what?

“I need you to know that…” Draco darts his eyes to Dumbledore and lowers his voice, “...that I have been working for the Order of the You-Know-What for two years now.”

“What!?”

“Yes, with this one here, directly.” Draco nods to Professor Dumbledore. “Well, not this one obviously, but… you know what I mean. I can show you whatever you need to see, but, please know that… oh my Gods, Princess, please know that we have been looking for you.”

Hermione looked down at her hands again. She can feel her eyes prickling with tears. Not now, please. I haven’t cried in weeks, now is not the time to start. 

She takes a big breath. She looks to Draco and then to Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore looks to Draco. “How long has it been since you have seen the miss here?”

“Nearly a year, sir.”

“Tell me… do you notice anything dramatically different about her?”

Draco takes a furtive glance at Hermione, and then turns his head to view her completely and takes a very labored breath.

“I am not sure how that is relevant at this juncture, Sir.”

“Right, right.” Dumbledore coughs slightly. 

“How early was your arrival, Miss?”

“About a year I believe, Sir”

“Well then, I think we have some work ahead of us then... or perhaps not. Am I to believe that you wish to get back to the time that you were before?”

“Sir?”

“Well, you are here. Do you want to be there?”

“We do not belong here!” Hermione had trouble keeping her voice steady.

“Are you sure about that?”

Draco and Hermione looked gobsmacked.

“I need you to know that you can stay here, if you would like. It might even be the best option, actually and...”

“Sir, but with…”

Professor Dumbledore puts up his hand, effectively stopping her comment.

“We have much to talk about and it is late as it is. I am not sure any of us are ready to, as they say, get everything out on the table, right at this moment… is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir.” Draco and Hermione answer in unison.

“It is important that you two remain here at Hogwarts. What year were you in?”

Hermione stares blankly at the professor and begins to fidget.

“We should be in our seventh year, Professor.” Draco says calmly.

“Yes, well, term will start in a few days. That will give me some time to get your transfer paperwork in order. How’s your French?” Dumbledore waits a moment, looking between the two confused young people. “No matter! How does transferring from Beauxbaton suit you two?” The pair nod slowly. Dumbledore gets out some parchment and a quill and begins to take notes. 

“Alright then… lets fill out some of this student transfer paperwork…” He pauses as he begins to check some boxes.

“What would you like for me to put down as blood status?”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Draco answered. Hermione gasped.

“Doesn’t matter? Doesn’t matter, Mr. Purest-of-the-Pure?! Oh, how could I have been so blind!” Hermione squares her shoulders. “You are just a polyjuiced Draco, aren’t you?!” Hermione’s hair began to spark with her magic. She grabs Draco by his blue robes and pulls him closer to her face, and lowers her voice. “I may not have my wand, but I swear if you have hurt Draco I will make you bleed in the most painful of ways, you little, fucking…”

“Miss!” Professor Dumbledore stops Hermione and looks to Draco. “May I see your hand?” Draco extends his pale hand to the professor. Professor Dumbledore quickly takes a small sample of blood from his finger and begins to root about in his top desk drawer. He pulls out a small brown box. He touches the wand to the top of the box and then looks inside. 

“Ah… Malfoy and Black, some Selwyn, and… Travers?” Professor Dumbledore looks to the pair. Hermione settles a bit in her seat.

“Yes, sir, that is my illustrious pedigree.” Draco’s face had a guarded expression. Hermione looks to her hands.

“I think it is best if we enroll you both as Purebloods. The only wizarding academies that are accepting Muggleborns or those of mixed heritage is Hogwarts. We can record your parents as-”

Hermione interjects, “Sir, both our parents are dead and I for one would rather not, on top of everything else, pretend that they are otherwise.” Hermione and Draco look at each other and then back to the professor.

“I understand. Names? I think once we can firmly establish the type of spell used to get you two here we can better understand the dynamics of the possible alterations to the timeline, however, I think we would be safe keeping the first names for the sake of simplicity…”

Draco nods his head over to his seatmate, “Hermione.”

She smirks back, “Draco.”

“And last names?”

Draco spoke up, “I have some great, great, great uncle of my third cousin or some such nonsense that was a Fabian and he disappeared in his thirties to live with the new dragon breed he discovered. No one knows what happened to him after that and he was the last of his house and line… I think I would like to bring that special sort of crazy to the 40s.”

“Draco Fabian, aye.” Professor Dumbledore jotted down the information.

“Hermione?” Hermione stares blankly at Professor Dumbledore.

Draco answers, “Lurra.”

Professor Dumbledore chokes slightly on nothing much at all.

“What was that, Mr. Fabian?”

“Lurra. It is perfect. The purest of the pure that take time to study the bloodlines of Europe will remember running across the name, I cannot remember the details, but really, I think it is one of those families that have been lost to time.”

Hermione nods slowly, seeing no reason to object.

“Yes, yes, I think you would be right, Mr. Fabian.” Professor Dumbledore eyes him closely and continues to fill out the form.

“Hermione Lurra, aye.” Professor Dumbledore begins to straighten out the parchment in front of him. 

“As it is getting late, I would like to offer guest rooms until you can get settled. To keep you from having to wander the halls in those striking and handsome robes, I believe that I will just open up the guest quarters though here.” At this Professor Dumbledore waves towards a wall in the office and two slender wooden doors appear. 

“Please call on Zilly the house elf if you need anything at all. She loves meeting new people.” Professor Dumbledore smiled broadly at the two young people. “I will collect you in the morning before breakfast. I will be sure to bring you two something to wear to get us through until we are able to get to Diagon Alley for your upcoming school supplies and clothing, and as far as funds go-”

“Sir,” Draco interrupted, “I think I can cover the funds. We will just need to take a quick side trip.”

Hermione stared quietly at Draco. Plopped in this world naked as the day you were born, but you have a line on some financial backing? Oh, ho! We shall see.

“Very good, very good. I bid you a good night Miss Hermione Lurra and Mr. Draco Fabian. I am off to bed, and I will be seeing you two in the morning.” Professor Dumbledore quietly rises from his desk and shuffles to the door, leaving the time-lost pair alone and in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione and Draco sat together, knees nearly touching. Good Godric, please start talking, Hermione. Ramble. Please. Let me hear you lay out all the swotty details about what we need to do. Draw me a diagram. Tell me I am acting pompous. Be Hermione. Please let me know that whatever has kept you away for the last 11 months hasn’t made you any less Hermione Granger; know-it-all Gryffindor Princess. I mean, we had a pretty good idea what happened, but we never were for sure that…

“Draco, I was kidnapped.” And there it was. No use holding on that dream. That dream of a tan Hermione sipping on some fruity drink on a beach near the equator. A Hermione that tucked tail and jetted off to safety without saying a word to her friends right as the walls were crashing down around everyone else? Really, the notion. Pfff. No, she was kidnapped. Oh, Gods... 

“I was kidnapped and I was… I was held captive by Voldemort.” That pause! Oh, the terror of that pause! What do I say? What can I say? WHAT HAPPENED?!

“Hermione...Hermione, I…”

“If it is all the same to you, Draco, I rather not talk about it right now. And I am sure you were about to say something meant to console and comfort me. And that is lovely and all, but I am here, and there are more important things we need to address first. Actually, loads of things.”

“O… K.” 

“Draco, Tom Riddle is here at Hogwarts.”

Draco’s vision goes fuzzy for a few moment. No, no, no…. 

“But, he is Tom Riddle, as a student.” Oh yes, because that means that he couldn’t possibly be a complete psychopath right now.

“Voldemort is the reason that I am here. He… did this spell, and, well, I suppose I need to do a bit more research before I know for sure but-”

“Oh yes, Granger in the library… that will make all of this seem more normal and-”

“Draco, no more Granger, it is Lurra now. Hermione Lurra.”

“Or I could just call you Princess. Yes, I think I like that. Princess.” Draco gave Hermione a dazzling smile. 

Hermione fixes Draco with a glare that could make a lesser bloke look rattled. Yes, there is my Princess.

“Draco.”

“Yes, Princess?”

Hermione huffs. “Draco, why have you been working with the Order?”

“For all the reasons I think you already suspect.”

“What, you woke up one day and realized you were raised to have suffocatingly prejudicial and completely backwards beliefs about blood status, and perhaps even Muggles as well!?”

“Right in one, Princess.”

Hermione gapes at Draco. “Let me see, OK?”

Draco turns full to Hermione and waits.

Legilimens

Pale blue smoke begins to recede and Hermione finds herself in lobby with long, smooth-look desk, two floors exposed with ornate marble columns lining the walkways in front of the rooms. As she steps closer she sees gilded statues lining the back of the lobby. She glances at the ceiling to note a large installation pieces, hanging and gently spinning, that looks like a colorful mobile. A museum! Hermione finds herself feeling big giddy as she turns to first room on the right and begins to peruse the paintings. The paintings are all in various colors, but lack any shape or form. Hermione presses on and then she locks eyes with a small square frame in the corner and then the flood of memories begins.

It is late at night in a Muggle park, Professor Dumbledore and Draco are on a park bench under a streetlamp.   
“Draco, I am very interested to hear why you have called this meeting.”  
Draco continues to sit, hands in the pockets of his jacket, breathing raggedly. The shaking of his body is barely concealed.   
“Draco?”   
Draco rubs his eyes with the heals of his hands. “Sssir… I am just so tired.”   
Draco looks to be in small study, searching through a pile of papers and documents on a desk. He lifts his wand, scans and reproduces some parchments, and tucks them away in robes. 

A man’s body lies still on a bed at St. Mungo’s. His face is mangled, but there is a tell-tale Weasley hair adorning his head. Draco crosses the room, closer to the bed. He feels around his neck and places a necklace with a simple silver amulet under his robes and against his skin. Draco gently places his arms around the patient and whispers, Portus. Soon, he and his charge arrive in an alley by some trash cans. Very slowly Draco lifts the seemingly-lifeless body and rounds the building. It is a Muggle hospital, and from the signage it is in France. Draco gets through the doors and is rushed by nurses and then places the body on a bed, and it is taken away. As Draco is at the check-in desk he pulls small business card from his wallet and slides it to the receptionist. She gives him an almost imperceptible nod.   
“Votre frère ... sera guéri , Monsieur Smith.” 

Hermione slips back out in his mind.

“Dumbledore taught you too, eh?” Hermione leans back away from Draco, searching his face. “Why is your memory base a Muggle museum?”

“During the summertimes my Father would often have me accompany him on business trips throughout Europe, but I would be left on my own to find amusements. Muggle museums soon became a favorite of mine for diversion. The layouts of museums, by theme, era, style… just seem to make sense as a way to organize my memories.” Oh, Gods, does that make me sound like a ponce?

Hermione nods slowly, taking in all the information about Draco’s involvement.

“Hermione, can you tell me more about what happened to you?” That’s it, a nice, open inquiry. No pressure. Just open the door for her to talk. 

Hermione laughs mirthlessly and averts her eyes.

“I don’t suppose it would be wise to tell Professor Dumbledore about what is going on in our time. We are going to have to be very careful not to-”

“Granger! ...Sorry, Lurra, Hermione, whatever…” Draco begins to get a bit huffy. “I don’t want to talk about the blasted timeline right now.” 

Hermione eyes widen, the edges of her eye red, threatening tears.  
Calm down, calm down, don’t raise your voice. Stupid, Draco, stupid. You have no idea what she has had to endure! 

Draco took moment to examine Hermione more closely. Her dark chestnut hair fell in loose, frizzy waves down her back, long enough to pool at the seat of the settee. Much longer than it had been the last time he had seen her; in fact, much too long to account for natural growth. Her skin was pale. Hermione’s face seemed rounder than he remembered, however with her large, amber eyes and rosy lips she looked like a porcelain doll. Has she… did she gain weight while she was held prisoner? I can’t tell a damn thing in that giant robe... 

At Draco’s close inspection Hermione pulled the bulky robe closer around herself. Hermione stood up, and clumsily tripped slightly over the robes as she made her way over to the guest rooms. Now a few feet away from Draco, she pulled her body upright and extended her chin out. “I am tired, Draco, and I really would just like to go to bed.”

“Of course.” He replied softly and stood up. “Goodnight-”

Hermione was already into the room on the right, and the door was slammed shut.

Draco whispered, “Goodnight, my Princess.” 

\----------

Hermione quickly slammed the door, pressing her hand against the frame shutting her eyes tightly for a moment. Breathe, Hermione, breathe! 

She turned around to inspect the room. It was very small. There was a twin sized bed in the corner with narrow desk at the foot of it. A short bookcase doubled for a bedside table. There was another door in the room, most likely to a bathroom. Hermione sighed heavily and threw herself on the bed, burying her face in the red chenille quilt. Yes, Hermione, what happened to you? 

\----------

Tom Riddle was furious. Rage poured through him and he could feel his magic flaring, licking the air around him as he lay powerless in his bed. He could not fight Professor Dumbledore’s spell and he glared at the ceiling, muttering obscenities about the old coot. Knowing that even if he stayed awake until the spell wore off, there would probably be nothing to investigate, he decided to give himself over to sleep. 

When he woke up the next morning he quickly showered in his private bathroom, shaved, dressed, and fixed his dark, wavy hair in a perfectly coiffed side part style. Being Head Boy was certainly going to be beneficial to Tom’s daily grooming routine. Tom scanned his bookshelf and chose a book to read at breakfast. Tom decided to forgo wearing his outer robes and rushed off the Great Hall, eager to find out what had transpired last night. No doubt Dumbledore will weave him a lovely tale to justify being summarily dismissed in such a crude manner.

Tom arrived to the Great Hall well before breakfast has been served. He scanned the head table to see only the Herbology Professor and Headmaster Dippet have arrived yet. Tom swiftly strided to the Slytherin table, nodding his head genially at each as he passed, and positioned himself in the best view as others enter the hall. Tom skimmed his book, his mind trying to mentally assemble all the possibilities leading to a body appearing in the hallways of the famously well-warded Hogwarts.

Breakfast had just arrived and Tom already was planning his route around the school to visit professors and the Headmaster, casually of course, to see if they knew anything about what has gone on in night. There would be no subtlety in just standing in front of the the Head Table and imperiously questioning each professor whilst they munch on their scones and toast.

Shortly, there was a rustle of robes as Professor Dumbledore entered the Great Hall, two individuals directly behind him. Tom struggled to resist craning his neck around Professor Dumbledore to get a better view of the duo. He knew he was failing to look disinterested, his book abandoned in his lap. As Professor Dumbledore made his way closer to the head table Headmaster Dippet stood from his seat to peek over Professor Dumbledore’s head to see the two unknown individuals. Suddenly the pair slow their pace to an amble as Professor Dumbledore went directly to the Headmaster, leaning down and whispering in his ear as Dippet’s face went from flustered to nearly ameable, if a bit vacant.

Tom finally locked eyes on the duo. A pair. A young man and woman. Walking shoulder to shoulder, close. They know each other. They are whispering to each other very softly, but there is no one around to hear what they would be saying anyways. Very personal information or damning, or perhaps just paranoid. He is tall, but not overly so, but enough to obscure view of the girl. He is athletic, but not bulky; Chaser or a Seeker, then. Shockingly platinum blonde hair tied with leather at the nape of his neck, beyond dated in the muggle world; he is a Pureblood. Clothes resized by charms, but not tailored for style, (length of pants is correct, but the distance of the buttons on the jacket is distorted; passable but not adept at charms work.). Also, there is a near-imperceivable color charm on his clothes making them black; he is not the owner of these clothes. The girl is looking at her hands, not the charmed ceiling or ahead of her as she walks, or even at her companion, no, looking at her hands. Nervous habit? A sign of anxiety at the very least. Weakness. Hair fashioned into a bulky crown of braids, same shade as the body that was in the hallway last night. Hm. She is slightly diminutive in height, but a full figure. Soft curves and…

The blond looked up from the girl and scans the room, eyes meeting Tom’s as he slows and stops his walking. He straightened his stature and his sharp eyes narrow at Tom. The stranger’s already pale face quickly wans even as he fixes his jaw out defiantly. The girl, ahead of the boy now, noticing that he is stopped, follows his line of sight. Her view rests on Tom for a mere moment before she grabs the blond by the elbow and tugs him along to follow Professor Dumbledore. Tom did not realize until she looks away that he is standing, book forgotten and fallen to the floor. 

\----------

Professor Dumbledore cheerily arrived and provided Draco and Hermione with some clothing. The three made plans to eat breakfast and then set out to run Draco's mysterious funds errand.

Professor Dumbledore lead them to breakfast in the Great Hall. He allowed them to fall behind slightly to converse.

Draco leaned down to Hermione as they got to the doors of the Great Hall, “Do you think the food will be the same?”

“Yes, Fabian, I wouldn’t be surprised if we recognize most of the Hogwart’s house elves, they do have much longer life spans than wizards.”

Now inside the great hall, Hermione's breath catches in her thought as they walk through the mostly empty hall.

“Tell me, Princess,” Draco’s voice drops a few tones, “How hard is it not to punctuate your phases with a distinctive, ‘Mal-foy’?”

“Honestly, Fabian, we haven’t even been here for 24 hours, I would like to keep our cover story together for a bit longer…” 

“I know, it is just-”

Hermione stops when she realizes that Draco has halted. Noticing his still face, she turns to see what has caused him to stop. Hermione feels as though a hippogriff has sat squarely on her ribs.

Him. What a strangely serene package for such a twisted thing. He looks just like a black and white photo. Light and shadows. No color to warm his features.

Hermione quickly pulls Draco along and away from the transfixing gaze of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. 

“Could you be a bit more awkward, Draco?!” She hissed.

“That’s him. Just a bloke. Eating. Eating food like a human being.” 

“Gods, Draco, of course he is... he is blood and bones and…”

“Can we just end him? Avada him in his sleep. Poison his pumpkin juice. He is so vulnerable like this…”

“Draco, no. It isn’t that easy. He is too big of a thread to remove from the great tapestry.” Draco gave Hermione a skeptical smirk. “Don’t look at me like that, Draco, you know what I mean. And I get the feeling that Professor Dumbledore knows more than he has said about why we are here. You-know-who may be the only way we get back to our own decade.”

“I thought you said you know why you were sent here?”

“I did, and I do, but now…” Hermione stopped her thoughts as the pair had reached the Head Table.

Professor Dumbledore nodded, “Yes, yes, Headmaster Dippet, I would like to introduce Mr. Draco Fabian and Miss Hermione Lurra.”

A rotund man decked in tweed with a thin beard leaned forward to greet the two, “Ah, yes! Welcome, welcome! I will be most interested to hear how Beauxbaton curriculum compares to ours here at Hogwarts. I will get your schedules after we get you two sort sorted into your houses at the Welcome Feast.” 

“Yes, Headmaster.” Hermione and Draco answered.

Headmaster Dippet fluffed his napkin in his lap before returning to his meal, “Why don’t you two go sit over there with our Head Boy, Tom Riddle. I am sure he can answer any questions you may have.”

Hermione knew she was unable to keep the furious contempt out of her eyes as she stared at the Headmaster after his declaration and dismissal. Luckily his attentions were back on his bangers and mash. 

Hermione leaned close to Draco, her chest nearly pressed at his side, Draco stilled his breathing, “Fabian, how do you feel about pretending to be a mute for our duration here? I am sure it it will give you a chance to hone your wordless magic.”

“Ha, ha, Hermione. I will be fine, I won’t embarrass you in front of the once and future Lord Ugly.”

“Really? Lord Ugly? We are going to have to work on a better euphemism. But right now, he is just-”

Hermione cut off her statement as she saw Tom Riddle approach. She felt Draco’s hand brush against hers. Her body stiffens as she make eye contact with him. Him. 

“My name is Tom Riddle.” That voice. He gave Hermione and Draco each a small, tight smile, and paused for a moment. “Please, if you feel so inclined, join me for breakfast.” Tom turned quickly and headed back to his table. Shit. Did he see me tremble when the headmaster essentially commanded us to join him for breakfast? Did he think that we were discussing him? Did he pause because we were supposed to introduce ourselves? That is what normal people do, right? People that are not harboring an overcoming fear that a ‘stranger’ would just as soon turn them into snake food than shake our hands. Yes, great job Hermione. Feed the paranoia of the future nefarious, egocentric despot. That voice. Clammy and vile and all things infectiously dreadful. 

Hermione grabbed Draco and pulled him close to whisper, “Draco, I cannot do this!” she hissed. “You have to, you, you, Draco, you have be that pureblood prick, please.” Draco knitted his eyebrows and studied Hermione’s face. “That will keep him, agreeable, right? Talk like you love the sound of your own voice, talk enough for the the both of us Just do the talking and I am just going to say ‘mhmm’ and smirk at the right times, and play with my hair. I can be Daphne Greengrass but, being this close to him, I cannot be Hermione right now. I can do this, right, that is what Daphne Greengrass would do, shut up and look vapid, easy peasy, yes-”

“Yes, fine, start by shutting up now, alright?” Draco’s words may have been harsh, but there was no venom behind them.

“Right.” Hermione gave him a smile much more suited on a mad hatter than as well adjusted young lady.

The duo walked over to the Slytherin table and stood across from Tom Riddle. He had returned to reading his book, and did not look up immediately. On purpose. Purposely ignoring us to make sure we realize that he realized that we tarried longer than necessary to come over here. Yes, thank you, we know.

“Tom Riddle, eh?” Draco schooled his face into his best ‘haughty and uninterested’ look and extended his hand towards Tom. “My name is Draco Fabian, and this is Hermione Lurra. We are new students here, transfers from Beauxbaton. We’ll be 7th years.”

Tom placed his book on the table and stood, slowly. He righted his shirt before extending a hand to Draco, “It is a pleasure to meet you.” At that Tom gestures to the table for the two to sit and join him.

**Author's Note:**

> I own neither the characters, nor the settings, I just like to play with them.


End file.
